by Ivanna Roze
She heard something off in the distance. Something like the sound footsteps on grass, off to her left. The distance was far enough that she didn't worry about needing to rush off. Instead, she turned her head and looked.
Everyone knew what Frank Grant looked like. He'd been on the cover of Time Magazine twice–in the last twelve months alone, in fact. Another two times back in the eighties. Since then he'd done television, he'd done movies, he'd done about everything someone could hope for.
So when she saw him, she wasn't surprised, and she didn't question who it was. But the man beside him looked almost familiar as well, and that did surprise her.
He was tall, broad-shouldered. He had high, prominent cheekbones. He had arms that looked like someone had stuffed his skin full of massive stones until they'd gotten the size they wanted, and a heavy-set brow. His hair was longish, falling almost to his chin. He wore a beard, but it looked more like he hadn't shaved than that he had chosen to grow it out.
Then the big mystery stranger ducked his shoulder and shot like a bullet across the field. Nick went down hard without much fight. As she watched him fall she realized that he'd stopped moving before the guy ever got to him. That seemed unlike him. Whatever it was, something was wrong. Very wrong. She hit the gas and made a bee-line for where the two men tangled on the ground. The stranger shivered and let out a yelp and a moment later he seemed to have doubled in size.
His clothes tore at the seams, trying to find space for thighs as thick as tree trunks, for a body that couldn't have existed on a man. His snout was long. His fur was black. She didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but it was distinctive and that, too, was familiar.
Nick's own fur was black, the one time he'd shown her that transformation. She didn't know how common it was, but she'd never forget seeing it.
She pulled up alongside as the wolf-man tore at Nick's chest, reached across and flung the door open. "Get in!"
Nick twisted and drove his hips up, and for a moment it seemed as if the wolf-man were unsettled. Brianna pointed and fired and the… "monster" was the only appropriate description, the monster shuddered and let out a shout. Then he dropped his hips and darted towards the car, lacing his fingers underneath the bottom and lifting up. Brianna felt herself going over, felt the car flipping any moment. And then something shocked it.
The shake was hard enough to rattle her teeth. "Jesus," she said. The noise was lost in the sound of the car slamming into the ground. A great big beast, one wearing Nick's flannel shirt, stood by the car. He jerked hard and ducked into the car in the heartbeat it took for him to change back into his usual self.
"Drive," he said, his voice rough.
She did. She didn't need to be told twice. They were on the street, blazing at speeds far too fast for city roads. But she wasn't going to slow down, either.
"What the hell was that?"
He hit the dash hard enough to leave a dent. "Fuck!"
"Jesus–Nick, this car's on my credit card. I can't afford that!"
He blinked and looked at it, looked at her with a hard, angry look. Almost furious. "Fucking–" he closed his eyes. Took a breath. Let the breath out, very slowly. "I'm sorry about that. I'll, uh. I'll figure something out."
"Good. You'd better."
"I'm just…" He let out another breath. "You don't understand."
"No, I usually don't with you. Everything's a big secret."
"Not this. I didn't keep anything from you this time, honest."
"Okay, you want to tell me what just happened, then?"
"That, back there?"
"Yeah, Nick, what is this, twenty questions? Jesus."
"That was my brother."
"You told me he was dead."
"Yeah," Nick said. His voice was hoarse. "He was supposed to be."
Thirty-Two
She took a breath, driving the rental car and worrying about the feeling of the right-front tire wandering. A drop like it had taken, it couldn't be good. Not for anything.
She wanted to sit and relax but that wasn't going to happen regardless of what she wanted. They had to drive. Nick gave directions; he didn't have a map in his lap, and he didn't have his phone out, so wherever they were going, he knew it from memory, and he apparently wasn't that worried about getting lost.
"Where are we going, anyways?"
"You're dropping me off," he said. "Report the car stolen, while you're at it."
"Don't be stupid." She was irritable as hell, and the way he said it just rubbed her the wrong way. "If your brother's out there, then maybe we're free and clear now that they've got the girl."
"Did that look free and clear to you?"
"It looked like he was trying to kill you."
Nick looked out the window and bit his thumb. "Yeah, it looked a lot like that."
"Are you hurt?"
"Hurt? Not really, I guess. No."
It was hard to believe him, with the blood still caked on his chin from a split lip. Blood she knew was going to come out of her bank account trying to repair. It wasn't likely to come out at this point, but there wasn't much she could do about it so she pretended it wasn't there.
That wasn't all the blood there was, though. The blood on his shirt looked like it was more than just drops that came off his lip. He looked like he'd taken a bad cut, and from the way he winced when he turned, she knew he probably had at least two broken ribs.
"Either way, I'm not going to leave you. You look like you need to get to a hospital, and you need to get there sooner than later."
He hissed. "No way."
"I'm not just going to let you get worse and worse, you big idiot. You need a doctor."
"No I don't. I just need to rest a while."
"Okay, and wherever we're going, you're going to be able to rest? They won't come looking for you here?"
He eased the car seat back slowly and laid his head back. His breathing did seem a little easier, though she put it up to taking the pressure off his chest.
"They'll probably come looking here."
"Oh, good. That's what I like to hear."
He closed his eyes, but he did answer her. "You've got another twenty miles this way. Wake me up at mile marker two-fifty or so."
"Or so?"
"Give or take. But we're going to be alright for a little while. They'll figure out where I went, but it's not going to be the first place they think of."
"Why's that?"
"Because they'd have watched it long enough to know I don't come here."
"Watched it? What's that mean?"
"Tell you later," he said, and then he stopped answering her. She was worried for a moment, and then the sound of his snores was just loud enough that she wanted to drown it out with the radio. She did, and he didn't wake when she did it.
She didn't have any favorite stations; she didn't listen to the radio enough to know many. There was the one she listened to in Grand Rapids, but it was mainly talk. They played music when they didn't seem to know what else to play.
On the other side of the state, and an hour north of Detroit, she took what she could get. It was top-forty and it wasn't very good. She would have rather they picked up the Top 40 Countdown if they were going to be playing this stuff. But apparently that wasn't what the station wanted to do.
So she was stuck listening to their half-assed attempts at DJing a radio station. Like the boonies were the bush leagues where people went to learn what the fuck to talk about on the radio, and this guy was new.
She frowned and counted the miles. Two fifty, he'd told her. Two forty-two blazed by. In ten minutes, she'd wake him up. But now she got to listen to another three songs that all sounded like each other, except that one of them was sung by a woman. Otherwise it was vaguely electronic imitations of a band and vocals that sounded more like autotune than it did like the singer they'd recorded.
He woke up on his own, though, as they passed mile marker two hundred forty-nine. "How long have I been asleep?"
&n
bsp; "Time to get up," she answered. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by an angry truck," he answered. Somehow she suspected that he knew more or less what getting hit by a truck felt like, and she didn't know whether or not to be worried by that.
"You gonna be alright?"
He looked at her as he raised the seat back up. "Do I look like I'm going to die?"
She couldn't help smiling. "Yeah, Nick. You look like you're on death's door. 'Got hit by an angry truck' sounds about right."
He barked a laugh. "I'll be fine. Feeling better already. Of course, that's all down to present company."
"Does that mean you're done with all this talk about me leaving you to get killed?"
He laid back and looked out the window. "No, I still think you ought to get out of here."
"That's not an option, though, numb-nuts. How long do you think that woman will take before she tells her husband who I am? How long before you think I lose my job? Hell, I've been ignoring their calls for three days now."
"Yeah," he said, finally. "I guess you're probably right about that, aren't you?"
"Yeah. Think before you say dumb shit, next time."
"So what, then?"
"We nail this guy, prove he's at the center of a criminal conspiracy, and that I've been investigating a crime all this time."
"That's going to be interesting."
"Yeah, it is. But hey, you keep your macho flag flying, too."
Nick snorted with laughter, and then winced. He might be feeling better, but he wasn't feeling great. That much was clear.
Thirty-Three
They sat outside of a cabin. The lights weren't on, and it was beginning to get dark, but the lights from the rental car fell just right to see their way up the steps to the door. Brianna watched Nick head up, open the door, and flick the lights.
Only then did she turn the car off, jump out her side, and follow him inside.
"You going to tell me what this place is now? Why you don't come here?"
"I said we'd moved a couple times?"
"Sure."
The place looked newer, that was for sure. It had more modern styling, and a little less log-cabin looks. A big window took up the entirety of the south wall.
"This was the last one."
"Looks nice. Y'all must have paid a fortune for this stuff."
"Who says we paid for it?" He looked genuinely surprised by the suggestion. Well, almost. The grin on his face seemed to carry a certain tone of sarcasm.
"Oh, okay. So you stole the house. Got it."
"I didn't say that. We had twelve guys, and every one of them was the kind of guy who liked to work with his hands. You think twelve guys can't build a little cabin like this?"
She looked around. 'Little' wasn't the term that she'd use. The main hall must have been twenty feet high, and overlooked a massive second-story balcony, all of it with a view out that window. The sunniest side of the building, she knew. That was where she left her basil plant in her apartment, which didn't count for much when she ignored it for weeks on end. Much like she was doing right at that moment.
"Okay, fine. You're all very impressive."
"Well, we were, that's for sure."
"But what's the problem? Why not come here?"
"I wasn't here when it counted. What rights do I have to the place?"
"What does that mean?"
"They died here. Or, most of them did. Apparently, Troy didn't."
"Oh."
"Oh, indeed. There, right in that spot. You can still see the stain, if you look."
Brianna practically jumped. She wasn't squeamish about blood, but there was something upsetting about it. Something disrespectful. She wanted to be somewhere else.
"I, uh… see your point."
"You do, huh?"
"I do."
"Then you should know why I picked it."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Tell me."
He let out a breath. "Because it's important, okay?"
"You came here to die." Her voice sounded hard. She hadn't intended it to. She wanted to be kind and understanding and polite and not a bitch. But that apparently wasn't how it was going to go down, and she couldn't exactly take it back and try again.
"No, I didn't," he said. His voice wasn't hard. "I came here to make it right."
"Don't lie to me, Nicholas. I'm not an idiot like that blonde bimbo we just dropped off."
"Idiot? I thought she was sweet."
"Yeah, Nick. Idiots can be sweet. It's why I'm so sour. Not an idiot, not sweet. I'm bitter and nasty and all kinds of negative things, but I'm smart enough to know how big lugs like you think."
"Then tell me."
"You're thinking that I should leave so you can face everything alone, like a big man. Then, when you die, you can be with your–pack. That way you'll make up for the fact that you couldn't save them. Of course, it won't do anything to help them, or to help their families. And you'll probably have your brother pull the trigger, so he can live with that the rest of his life."
He looked at her impassively, but she could see his expression souring as she said it all. "No," he answered finally. "You're wrong."
"Okay, fine. Why don't you tell me how it is?"
"I don't want to talk about this any more."
She frowned and shut her eyes to try to ride out the wave of anger. Why couldn't he just admit that she was telling the truth?
"Fine."
She set down at the table–the table where, before, they must have had their meals. A dozen men, and most of them dead now. She pulled her gun from its holster and stripped it.
"You got a gun cleaning set around here?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"You're a hunter, aren't you?"
"I use one of these," he said, reaching around back.
The knife he pulled out was big. Hunting knives rarely are. She'd have called it a fighting knife, but aside from the big bowies, they were mostly smaller than that one, too.
"What are you hunting–cowboys?"
"You know, the usual."
"Sure."
"It gets in your head, you know. The whole thing. It gets in your head and stays there. You're not going to find out, because I'm not going to let you get that far."
"It's not your decision," she growled. "I'm going to kick your ass, seriously. You think you get to make every decision for me, don't you? Is that how it is?"
"You like it," he answered, smirking, leaning in. She wanted to tell him she did. It was endearingm sure. But that wasn't exactly the same thing. She hated it, but she loved that he kept doing it anyways. She loved it because she loved the thorns, not the rose. He had a lot of rose, with a body like his. He had a lot of thorns to go with it.
"Look, I'm not going anywhere."
He looked at her and took a deep breath. "You've decided, then? No talking you out of it? There's nothing I can say?"
"I decided when you stopped being a cryptic little shit," she answered, and it was true.
"Oh yeah? Is it the wolf transformation? You think it's hot, right?"
Brianna rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I like you."
"Yeah?"
Her hands felt unsteady, all of a sudden. "Nick?"
His voice was worried when he answered. "What's wrong?"
"Nick, I don't want to die."
"I told you. Nobody's going to die." She was surprised to feel his hands on hers. She was more surprised how comforting it was. Her stomach did a flip and she felt like she was going to be sick.
"Nick?"
"Something wrong?"
"I love you." Speaking the words took a weight off her shoulders. It was out, now, and she didn't have to worry about how she was going to tell him. She didn't have to worry about not telling him before they both got themselves killed doing something unspeakably stupid.
Whatever he thought about her proclamation, Nick didn't answer.
Thirty-Four
She wasn't sure whether she saw or felt his kiss come first. But she knew that it came on strong and hard and she wanted more of it from the first instant. He'd always been rough with her the other times. This shouldn't have been any different, but somehow it just was, in ways that Brianna couldn't express.
Something about it just seemed desperate by comparison to the times before. Needy. She wasn't sure who needed it more–Nick, or her. But she knew that she needed it.
He pressed her back onto the table, his hands already roaming over her body. Already teasing her and suggesting what was to come, before he ever reached the warm place between her thighs.
"You and your one-track mind," she sighed. "I swear."
But she wanted it, and there wasn't any way she could seriously deny it, no matter how much she tried. Her hips rolled up to meet her lover's probing hands.
"You like it, don't lie."
Her body shook, in spite of herself. "Fuck you," she said. "I can lie whenever I want."
"You're absolutely right," he answered. His breath was husky, thick with need. Brianna wanted nothing more than to be out of her dirty clothes at this point, but she wanted more than that, too. She wanted him out of his much less dirty clothes, for one thing. She wanted the comfort that she'd found after she'd been fucked like she was never fucked before, the last two times. She wanted everything to feel halfway alright.
"Fuck me until I forget," she said. He rolled a nipple between her fingers, his other hand already working at the fly on her jeans. He reached that thick, powerful hand into her panties and found the spot where she itched right away, and pressed on it.
A gasp pulled out of her throat, and for an instant, Brianna felt better. Then he moved his hand again, and it happened again.
"Do that again," she told him, trying to move her hips to make it happen. It only worked when he moved his fingers again, probing inside her and finding the right spot, pressing hard.
"You've got to be patient, Detective. Didn't your mother ever tell you that?"
She tried in vain again to get her own hips to bring her the pleasure that he brought to them seemingly without effort. "My mother didn't tell me about fucking big burly men, and I'm thankful for that."
